Parabola
by bite-or-avoid
Summary: At three am, logic and rationality fade away into the dark corners of her bedroom; deserters of their post as guardians of the hollow ache seeping through her bones. *Updated 9/9- Complete, for now*
1. Fortunate Son

**Originally written for the iTunes Fic Challenge. Basically, put your iTune on shuffle and use the first ten songs as drabble prompts  
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**1. Fortunate Son- **_**Creedence Clearwater Revival**_

He'd forgotten how much he hated the desert.

It wasn't how damn hot it was, necessarily. It wasn't how the sand managed to trickle into his shoes, until no amount of shaking them out would ever rid him of the tiny grains. It wasn't even how the sweat pooled at the base of his neck and trailed from his brow into his eyes, burning and blinding and irritating him beyond belief.

He stood, faced with the endless stretch of dry cracked earth and a mirage of the horizon shimmering in every direction, and felt an oppressive weight squeezing him like a vice. There was no club or casino in which to hide from it, behind the mask of an engaged to be engaged hustler with a hot vixen on his arm. There was no Angela, as lost and desperate as he'd ever seen her, leading them in the footsteps of a dead lover with her still irrepressible faith. There was nothing to shield him, shelter or distract him from it now.

Standing with his partner over a body in the dry Arizona heat reminded him of miles and miles of sand beneath his booted feet, back when every breath was the pull of a trigger and the air died like ash in his lungs.


	2. Wish You Were Here

**2. Wish You Were Here- _Pink Floyd_**

Four days into her book tour, she realizes that she hasn't spoken to Booth in over twenty-four hours, nor seen him in five days, and this feels like much too long.

There is no new case in her absence, and she can only imagine how frustrated he must be with the mountains of paperwork he now has no excuses to avoid. The mental image is quite amusing, but _amusement_ is not why she cannot seem to stop thinking about him the rest of the day.

During dinner with her agent, she wonders if he is at the diner with someone else.

The thought is quite unpleasant.

Retiring to her hotel room for the night, she thinks it would have been nice to have a drink with him, to tell him about the day and the reception her newest work is receiving. He would look at her with interest and pride, as if he had anything to do at all with her accomplishments.

Well, maybe he does. A little.

***

"Booth here."

His voice is raspy, and she realizes he must have been asleep.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Bones!" And he sounds like… she feels. Irrationally glad to hear the voice on the other end of the line.

"I just wanted to… say hello. It was strange, not speaking to you today."

"Bones, are you saying you miss me?"

"No! I'm just saying, it was unusual, that's all."

"I think you miss me."

"I do _not_, Booth. Now, I'm sorry I woke you. Goodnight."

"Nite. Hey… Bones?"

"Yes?"

"I miss you, too."


	3. Something

**3. Something- _The Beatles_**

He watches her from the doorway of the bone room, heart nearly pounding out of his chest.

Always when she is like this, it is a study in grace and concentration. He knows that look on her face as well as he knows the lines on his own; the small furrow between her brows, eyes so focused on the task at hand that World War III could break out in the hallway and she wouldn't notice. It always amazes him how she can glean so much information from bones simply by staring at them.

It also makes his pants feel tight when he thinks about her studying _him_ with the same intensity.

He's watched her like this for years; at crime scenes, on the sanctity of her forensics platform, in this very room. Sometimes, it would take her hours to notice he was even there at all, and the realization was usually accompanied by a sharp look and a brief dismissal before resuming her work.

Her brow furrows more than usual. For a moment, she looks confused, before glancing up as if expecting him. Her eyes find his, and she smiles.

He smiles back.


	4. Learning To Fly

**4. Learning To Fly- _Tom Petty_**

The manuscript has long since been wiped from her hard-drive, yet the words seem to have taken up permanent residence inside her head.

Booth would claim their location to be in her heart, but he would be wrong. Because Temperance Brennan, does _not_ think with her heart.

Except she thinks maybe she's starting to understand what it means to put that particular organ into overdrive. And therein lies the problem.

Because she does not believe that love is anything more than a state of physiological being brought forth by the surge of hormones and neurotransmitters; but she expresses the desire to believe in Booth's notion of it anyway.

She does not believe that one person can be everything another will ever need, can't understand why someone would even want to live up to such a foolhardy ideal. But she cannot imagine a day when she will not care about her partner; a day when she will not want and need him to be in her life and by her side.

She does not believe that giving yourself to someone, body and mind and metaphorical heart in one complete package, is destined to end in anything but emotional destitute when the inevitable fall from grace comes.

The hypocrisy of writing about _burdens that allow us to fly_ is unnerving.

Yet she finds, with as much conviction as she _does_ believe in science and the unalterable laws of the universe, she can't help but believe in _him_.


	5. Renegade

**5. Renegade- _Styx_**

"Tempe's mad at me."

The agent chuckles a little, running a hand over his face.

"Believe me, I know, Max."

"Did she tell you why?"

"She told me…. something about you getting arrested."

He meets Booth's wary stare and figures he's probably one of a very few people that isn't intimidated by it.

Then again, there aren't that many people who spend half their adult lives on the run from the authorities, only to turn themselves in at the misguided notion that their daughter is walking down the aisle. So, maybe he's not as smart as he thinks he is.

"No need to beat around the bush, son. I know she called you the minute she got off the phone with me, and I know you checked it all out."

Booth's expression remains impassive. He's got to admit, the kid has a great poker face.

"Can't con a conman, right Max? Well, why don't you tell me what happened anyway."

"It was all one big misunderstanding."

"I'm a very understanding guy."

"Look. Russ was out with some of his buddies. He got a call that Amy was in the hospital with contractions, but they were all three sheets to the wind. So he called me, and I drove him."

"You missed the part where you were stopped doing ninety-five on the interstate reeking of booze."

"Not me— Russ. I passed the breathalyzer, but D.C.'s finest locked us up anyway."

Booth stares at him a minute longer. Then he sighs, rolling his shoulders loosely, and offers a small smile.

"Ok. That's what the precinct told me when I called, so no big deal. Bones is just upset because… it brought back some unpleasant memories, is all. Just give her some time. She'll come around."

Max studies him; this truly decent man who cares so much about his baby girl.

"Are you sleeping with my daughter?"

The agent coughs and sputters, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation.

"What— why does everyone— why do _you_ keep asking me that?"

"Maybe because, one of these days, I'm hoping for a new answer."

"Max, just… stop talking before I arrest you for harassing an FBI agent."


	6. Can't Change Me

**Thank you to all you lovely reviewers! I really, really appreciate the wonderful comments, and promise to respond individually to each of you when time is a little more forgiving :)**

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**6. Can't Change Me- _Chris Cornell_**

It was pointless.

She could list every bone in the human skeleton. In alphabetical order. Backwards.

She could give names and faces to the discarded and the forgotten. To the poor damned souls that would have languished forever in anonymity if not for her skilled hands and genius brain. If not for her fierce determination.

But this was something he could never will her to understand.

It was so much easier when he wasn't in love with her. Then, her inadvertent carelessness with his feelings didn't hurt half as bad.

Booth wished he hadn't had such a crap morning meeting. Really wished he hadn't skipped lunch because of an argument with Rebecca about taking Parker camping. Most of all, he wished Bones hadn't started a discussion that they both _knew_ would lead to an argument. Maybe if wishes were horses, and one of these things hadn't happened, he wouldn't have snapped quite as spectacularly.

"Give it a rest, okay Bones? Why are we still even having this argument? _I_ have faith. I believe in God, and marriage, and love, and all that other stuff that you boil down to your anthropological mumbo-jumbo. You may not get it, but this is who I am, all right?"

She fell silent, those clear blue eyes wide with astonishment. He realized with a sharp pang that, until he'd lost it, she honestly thought this was one of their light-hearted bickering sessions, and instantly felt like an unmitigated ass.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but her soft voice, almost shy in its earnestness, cut him to the core.

"I know, Booth. I like that that's who you are."


	7. Come As You Are

**7. Come As You Are- _Nirvana_**

She thinks she can catalogue every time he has shown up at her apartment by the mere expression on his face.

At midnight with Chinese and a sympathetic ear; in the morning with coffee and a charming smile; for dinner while enthusiastically petting his sculpted abdominals. He comes to her with a case, or with a pizza and beer, and it feels more like home when he's there than when he's not.

Which is completely irrational, but something she cannot deny.

When she opens the door to find his drawn, ashen face staring back at her with barely restrained emotion, she thinks that maybe it feels like home for him, too.

"Bones, I'm sorry, I didn't know where else to—"

"Shhh," she soothes, and wonders when this instinct to comfort him took root within her life. But, she realizes, it doesn't matter.

Wrapping her arms around his large frame, she pulls him inside.


	8. Love Her Madly

**8. Love Her Madly- _The Doors_**

She storms out, slamming the door so hard that the frames on his walls rattle.

They've never fought like this before, and he's starting to think that maybe he was wrong. Not for loving her, not _ever_ for that, but for convincing himself that she was ready. Maybe him thinking with his heart and her thinking with her big genius brain just isn't gonna cut it when it comes to making this work.

He doesn't even remember what the damn fight was about, for crying out loud. But she had launched into him as if possessed, making it pretty clear that what he _thought_ she was pissed about was not _actually_ what she was pissed about and the fact that he was clueless just pissed her off even more.

He never imagined that Bones could be such a… well frankly, such a girl.

And somehow, even while she was running for the nearest exit, all he wanted to do was kiss her senseless.

That must just be conditioning from all the years of not knowing whether he wanted to kiss her or strangle her, he's sure.

He pads over to his room, sighing. Wallet, keys, shoes, and searching the city for Bones it is, then. Back in the living room, sneakers in hand, he stops.

She's leaning against the inside of the door, looking miserable.

"I used my key," she says, quite reasonably.

"That's why I gave you one, Bones," and this teases forth a fleeting smile.

"I'm sorry, Booth."

All doubts crumble, unable to withstand the tempest within his heart.


	9. Vicarious, Paperback Writer

**Last one, guys! For now at least. I may revisit at a later date, because there's plenty of songs still left to work with ;) Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed!**

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**9.&10. Vicarious- _Tool_; Paperback Writer- _The Beatles_**

"I swear, no matter how long I work here, I'll never understand." Angela's eyes dart away from the tiny body on the gleaming platform, and her voice is thick with unshed tears. "And the day I do, I'm going to have to quit."

She practically flees towards her office. Brennan is frozen in place for a moment, fighting the urge to drop her own dispassionate façade. But when she glances at the remains, she knows that she is not afforded such a luxury.

If she allows herself to feel the way Angela does, this crime may never be solved.

When Wendell pulls off his gloves and takes off after her friend, Brennan makes no move to stop him.

***

She finds her friend and her intern locked in an embrace an hour later.

Wendell excuses himself, blushing furiously. Brennan wonders if this is what Booth was so anxious to tell her that night at Founding Fathers.

"Ange, are you all right?"

The artist manages a watery smile.

"I'm sorry I lost it like that, sweetie. It's just… it really gets to me sometimes, you know?"

Brennan nods, sitting on the couch beside her friend.

"Did Wendell help you?"

"He did. He… helps me a lot."

"Why didn't you say anything?" She can't help the hurt that laces her tone.

They used to be much closer.

"He's your intern. I didn't think you'd understand."

"Why wouldn't I? You have been celibate for quite some time. Wendell is very attractive, if a bit young. He is also funny and generous, and I imagine quite adept at fulfilling your bio—"

"Stop it right there, Brennan. It's not about that."

"Then what is it about?"

"I'm just…" Angela sighs wearily. "I'm just lonely, sweetie."

"Oh. I— I can understand that."

It is a quiet acknowledgment, and one she is surprised she can express so easily. Booth would be proud, she thinks.

"I know," Angela replies softly. "Only you don't deal with it the same way as everyone else."

"There's nothing wrong with compartmentalizing, Angela. If I didn't, I would not be able to live my life efficiently."

"I know you think it works, but try to step outside your head for a minute. You solve murders for a living, then you travel all over the world so you can dig up more dead bodies. You write books about a relationship you're not having and spend all your time with a man you won't admit you love."

Angela grips her hand fiercely, words devoid of any sharpness or recrimination. There is only sadness there, and a hint of resignation. It is a testament to how upset her friend is that she is voicing these thoughts, Brennan knows, but she cannot help the sting of betrayal regardless.

"I love you, sweetie. You know I do. But what you're doing isn't living. It's waiting."

***

Angela is right, of course.

Brennan's hands fly over the keyboard, stringing together letters and words to bring to life the world she creates to manifest what she can't have in this one.

She wants to call Booth. Years ago, she would trust the act of writing or working to bring catharsis to her bruised sense of self.

She wonders when it happened that telling him things she could barely admit to herself became all the purgation she needed. But he has Parker tonight, and she wouldn't dream of interrupting his time with his son.

Peace of mind will have to come from the way Kathy strives for release under Andy's solid form and comforting touch.

***

At three am, logic and rationality fade away into the dark corners of her bedroom; deserters of their post as guardians of the hollow ache seeping through her bones.

She curls a finger inside herself, and whispers his name.


End file.
